7 Days

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Author: Ciana Rose

Day One

It’s my first of seven days in Cancun. It took three friends to convince me to take this vacation.
I make my way across the white sand to one of the straw umbrellas. It’s the furthest from the crowd. I drag a chaise lounge into the sun and drape my towel over it.
I’m not used to this kind of heat and it’s making me lazy. Absently, I slide off the straps of my beach dress and let it drop. Then I bend, ever so slowly, to pick it up.

Taking a seat, I dig into my bag and pull out the suntan lotion. I pour into my palm and rub my hands together. Feels like I’m stuck in slow motion. I start with my shoulder. With long strokes down my arm, I work the oil into my skin gently. I pour again and treat my other side with the same languor. Then I lift my face and go to work on my neck.
As I move down to my chest, I knock my sunglasses off the chair. I twist to reach for them, but they’re too far away. I raise myself a little and lean farther. I manage to grab the glasses just before my full breasts spill out of my bathing suit. Grunting with the inconvenience, I pull myself back on the chair.
I continue. My hand slides across my chest to cover the top of my shoulders once more, then returns to dip deep inside my cleavage. I enjoy touching myself and spend more time on this than I need to.
With another supply of oil, I move on to my tummy. I pamper it carefully, convincing myself it’s womanly to have a small bulge. Who am I kidding?
I sit up and pour a generous amount. I have shapely legs and don’t mind showing them off. Bending my knee, I rub my thigh leisurely with both hands–up and down, against each other–on the outside, on the inside, underneath. I work my way over my knee, covering my shin, my calf, my ankle, all the way down to my toes.
When I finish, I stop and stare at the ocean. I can get used to this. The sound of waves is so calming. I pick up the lotion and begin on my other leg–rubbing, stroking, massaging.
As I twist the cap back on, I suddenly remember…. I pour more oil. Leaning to the side, I lift my hip and rub underneath. As I work it, I slide my hand inside my bathing suit to ensure full coverage. It’s sensual. I shift my weight and repeat the process on the other side.

I finally lie back, close my eyes, and enjoy the sun. The Mexican heat is relentless and after a while, perspiration and oil blend to make my skin shine. It makes me feel sexy.
I raise myself on one elbow and shade my eyes with my hand. The ocean is still there, but most people have gone inside to escape the afternoon sun. I take a deep breath and sigh. I’m content. It’s time to turn over.
I take my time turning onto my side. As I reach for the lotion, I slowly raise my eyes and look straight at him.

He’s been watching me since my arrival. All right, call me a flirt. I never said I wasn’t.
He has dark hair and a mustache. I can’t determine the nationality; he doesn’t look Mexican or American. On the other hand, I have no doubt of the ample confidence he possesses–a quality that attracts me so deeply, it touches my core.
I’m not usually forward, but a strong sense of freedom always possesses me when I’m in a foreign place. I hold the lotion up questioningly and wait. He stands and I get to do a quick survey. Niiiiice.

I complete my turn onto my knees, then lower myself on the chair purposely slow. What am I doing? As he approaches, I reach back and unsnap my top. I can’t stop myself.
Without a word, he pulls up a chair. Then he picks up the lotion and pours into his hand.
He starts at the top of my shoulders. All it takes is his touch. I moan and my ass pushes back before I know it. Just because I haven’t been laid in six months…. I blame it on the heat–my inhibitions have melted away. Who is he?
His hand is light but firm as it works across my shoulders in small rotations. My body is well mannered and always shows its appreciation to a man who knows what he’s doing; it’s responding without hesitation to his deliberate and experienced touch.
As I sink deeper into a relaxed state, sexual heat continues to consume me. I wonder if it’s mutual? With a soft moan, I make an effort to stop my ass from pushing out again. Why?
He continues to massage my back. My mind is off enjoying all the other things his hands could be doing to me. Where shall I start?
He’s working his way down to my mid-back. Anticipation is making me dizzy. He must know this. He does. He slows the descent, causing my ass to push back further with every pause.
After a lengthy torment, his hands reach where I need them, but not before my back is arched deep and my ass raised, extending the full invitation he’s been demanding.
I wait with baited breath while I wonder if he will. He does. My skin tingles when he eases his fingertips under the worn elastic of my bathing suit. Thank God there hadn’t been time to buy a new one. He reaches deeper inside the suit with each circling. I bite my lip and wait. My cunt just wets.
He moves his hand across my ass. I can’t believe I’m moaning so loudly. He scoots his chair closer and rubs harder. My appreciation is torn between the merits of the massage and the arousal.
The beach is deserted now. I doubt I would care even if it weren’t.
Sliding his hand back and forth across my cheeks, he dips more and more between them. I’m lost in the pleasure of anticipation.
Suddenly he digresses and slowly removes his hand. While he pours more oil, I wait patiently with my back still arched and my ass pushed out. The message can’t be any clearer. What’s come over me?
This time, he ignores my cheeks and slides a finger directly toward my asshole. Guess he has no qualms about letting me know what he wants. Some men have a flare for getting you to hand it over to them on a silver platter. My friend here seems to be an expert. He uses the very tip of his finger to circle my hole gently. I make no effort to hide my pleasure. My ass even waves to confirm.
The circles grow smaller until his finger is directly on my entrance. I’m embarrassed when he pats it lightly. It makes me wet. This seems to prompt him and he reaches lower. Somehow I don’t think he’s done with my ass yet. Maybe the tapping was to let me know he’ll return.
I’m sure the extent of my wetness isn’t a surprise. With a light touch, he parts my sticky pussy, then rests his hand. I realize the long pause is intended. He’s stressing my cunt’s availability to him and his whims. If he wants me to crave him, he’s succeeded.
Moving to my pubic hairs, he strokes them lightly just above my clit. If it weren’t for my swimsuit, I’m sure I would be dripping. He brushes over my clit more deliberately, then gently inserts his middle finger to the first knuckle.
I want to scream “fuck me,” but I keep still and let him do what he wants. I have no desire to be the one in control.
He strokes inside my cunt, but doesn’t insert deeper than his second knuckle. Then he withdraws and returns to my asshole. He spends a moment circling and rubbing, then picks up the oil. I can see from the corner of my eye. This time, he dips the length of his finger. I can’t breathe.
He slides his hand back inside my suit and places his fingertip at my asshole. The anticipation and the dread of the intrusion are making me crazy.
He applies a gentle pressure. It’s just enough to keep my rear dancing around his finger looking for pleasure. If I were he, I would be proud of myself.
He suddenly pushes hard enough to stretch me. I let out a tiny scream. It’s just satisfaction. He inserts the tip of his finger and stops. I moan wantonly, but he holds his ground. He wants a greater gift. I can’t arch my back any deeper, or push out any harder. So I oblige him by begging with a soft whimper. How can I feel such trust for a complete stranger? But I do.
My ass is inexperienced and tight. He opens his hand and works his finger in slowly but persistently until it’s buried. When he grips my bottom firmly in his palm, hesitation isn’t an option. My moan lets him know my willingness and consent for the free reign he’s demanding.
He makes a small sound of triumph and withdraws his finger partially, then pushes in hard. He does it once and removes his hand.

Eventually I realize he’s done. O’ God, please no. This isn’t something I can accept readily. He places the lotion next to me, then gently kisses the back of my shoulder and stands.
I manage to rearrange my top over my breasts. At this point, what’s a pair of naked tits? Holding the suit against my chest, I turn over clumsily in time to see him walk back to his chair.
With my cunt soaking, I watch him take his seat. He glances over and winks. Then he puts on his sunglasses and straw hat. Scooting lower in the chair, he folds his arms across his chest and smiles.

An hour has passed since my complete seduction and I’m still steaming with sexual heat. I can’t take my eyes off him. When he starts to gather his things, I’m disappointed. Is he going to just leave? No.
“My name is Carlo,” he says, stopping at my side. “Why don’t you go in now and get yourself ready. Meet me at the restaurant at seven.”
It’s an instruction, not an invitation.
He flashes an expression of lust and leaves me. I sit stunned and speechless, no doubt with my mouth hanging open. When he disappears inside the hotel, I smile, then hustle to gather my things.

I only brought two dresses appropriate for a dinner date, but spend an hour deciding which Carlo might like better. Hair and makeup aren’t a piece of cake either. My hand ‘s shaking from excitement. I feel alive.

I don’t know why I’m so nervous. My eyes are darting around the restaurant to find him. My heart is racing. You would think it’s my first date.

With half faith and half disappointment, I conclude he hasn’t arrived yet and turn toward the bar.
I collect my faculties quickly when I see him seated on a barstool, holding up a Margarita for me. He wears tan slacks and a print shirt. Damn, he looks good.
I use the time it takes me to walk the longest thirty feet wisely. I give myself a hearty pep talk on the differences of behaving like an adult woman and an adolescent girl.
With Carlo perusing me every step of the way, I make an effort at a provocative walk. Are you kidding, with lead feet? My heart is not racing any more; it’s pounding. I’ll have to remember to offer a prayer of thanks for making it there without tripping.
“You’re very pretty.” Carlo takes my hand and guides me to the next stool.
I still haven’t found my tongue and can only offer a nervous smile.
He looks deep into my eyes, then strokes my cheek softly with the back of his fingers. “Relax, Isabel,” he says with compassion.
I’m thrilled he has inquired and learned my name and am amazed that he pronounces it correctly, as the French do. I’m also mystified whether it’s his instruction to relax or he, but magic is suddenly cast and I’m ready for a drink and conversation.
We spend ten minutes doing the preliminary background reporting. I’m sure there will be a more in depth probe during dinner.
I find him to be incredibly comfortable to talk with. He is a mix of Italian and Greek. He’s been living in Southern California since he was a young boy and is a building contractor. He also helps run his family-owned Italian restaurant. I bet he’s a good cook. I’d love to taste his spicy meatballs.
I reveal that I’m a computer programmer, divorced, and live in Michigan. We also discover I’m older than he by two years.
Carlo is witty and his sense of humor is an unexpected delight. He continues to make me laugh.

“Come on, I’m hungry.” Carlo suddenly takes my hand.
I manage to set my drink down without spilling any as he pulls me off the stool.
Apparently our table has been ready for some time and he leads me straight to it. No sooner do we sit than salads are placed in front of us. Ordinarily I would take offense at my date deciding what I should eat, but somehow with Carlo, it makes perfect sense.
We eat broiled shrimp with rice and fresh vegetables. Margaritas continue to arrive. Compliments of the hotel, there’s an endless flow day and night.
By the end of dinner, I feel closer to Carlo than I ever did with my husband. He seems to anticipate my needs and provides just at the right time. We’re making friends. There isn’t any sexual tension between us, but it hasn’t left my mind entirely either.
When the waiter arrives with the check, Carlo charges it to his room. This seems to be our cue because he’s up and pulling my hand to stand. “Let’s go.”
I trot behind him like an obedient pet. I don’t bother to ask where–it really doesn’t matter.

Outside, Carlo hails a cab and we’re off. A fifteen-minute ride while he makes friends with the driver before we arrive in town. We bid the driver good health and long life and I find myself standing in front of a nightclub.

The club is full and festive. Carlo takes my hand and leads me straight to the dance floor. Mexican music is blaring and there isn’t a bone alive that could resist dancing to it–certainly not mine.
I’m beside myself–Carlo is a terrific dancer. It’s in his blood. My entire life I’ve wished for a man who could compliment me as a dance partner.

We begin to perspire and take a break. Again, I’m led to the bar and equipped with a drink without being asked what I might prefer. Somehow, I haven’t wanted anything different than what I’ve been provided with all night. The cranberry juice hits just the right spot.

We make a bathroom run and upon return, we’re back on the dance floor. The room is more crowded now and we dance with our bodies much closer, to each other and to others.
Something about the Latin culture, particularly the music, tends to ignite my passion. Carlo only adds more fuel.
With the sweat and physical closeness, sexual tension grows quickly. Not just between us, but within the entire room.
The music slows and Carlo takes me in his arms as though he has done so a million times before. We fit. I lock my arms around his neck and he looks down into my eyes while we move sensually. He’s not wearing cologne and I like his smell.
The lights dim and the next song is even more romantic. He kisses me–softly, sweet. Then he opens his mouth and our tongues are at each other. I like the warmth, the wetness, the feel of his mustache.
The circle closes in around us and we openly rub against each other–I’m wet, he’s semi hard.
He bends me back a little and slides his hands over my ass. I can’t help but moan. He rubs my ass hard, then bends me further and reaches between my legs with both hands.
I open my eyes and find the man next to me watching as Carlo rubs the back of my crotch through my skirt. Oddly, I’m not at all bothered by it. The man raises his eyes slowly and meets mine. I’m sure we both see the same in the other’s–lust. Carlo spins us around and I close my eyes and enjoy his closeness.
With the end of the song, he stops abruptly and again, we’re leaving.

The night air is warm, but still sobering after the heat of the dance floor. Carlo hails another cab and we return to the hotel.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Carlo says, already taking my hand.
We leave our shoes by the road. It’s past midnight and the beach is deserted except for a lone figure in front of the next complex. Our only light is the bright moon and the dim lights of the hotel from afar.
We walk to the surf in silence, my hand still in Carlo’s. The warm water rushes around our feet and soaks his pant legs, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
Suddenly he yanks my arm hard enough to turn me to face him. He looks into my eyes. His expression of confidence makes me wet instantly. He strokes my hair for a moment, then swoops me into his arms. His passionate kiss and irritating stubble melt me. I’m all over him, aching to absorb his manliness.
His hands run wild on my back. Each time, he reaches lower. He squeezes my ass and I claw his shirt in an effort to be closer. Reaching further, he pulls the back of my skirt up to my waist. I have a surprise of my own–I’m bare underneath.
“That’s nice, baby. I like that you did that for me,” Carlo whispers in my face, helping himself to my ass. With both hands, he pushes my pelvis harder against his and his tongue deeper into my mouth. I’m ready to bear his children.
Suddenly, he grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls my face back. I’m not ready to abandon our kiss and I struggle to repossess it, but he continues to hold me back with my crotch pressed against him. When I surrender, he pulls me to him and I get to find comfort in his arms.

As I turn my head against Carlo’s chest and open my eyes, I realize the lone figure that seemed far enough away is now nearly upon us.
When I make an effort to break loose, Carlo tightens his arms and holds me in place. As I see the man coming closer, I struggle to lower my skirt, but Carlo is holding it up and remains adamant. I’m helpless. All I can do is bury my face in his chest and wait for the man to pass.
With every moment of anticipation, I’m surprised to find myself growing wetter. At the present, I want nothing more in life than to belong to Carlo forever.
Caught between lust and humiliation, I hear the man’s breathing as he approaches. My own breath has either quickened or shortened, I’m in no condition to make a distinction of such complexities.
As Carlo gently strokes my hair and kisses the top of my head, I suddenly realize I have an opportunity to escape him, but find the desire is no longer there. He seems to recognize my decision and plants a more affectionate kiss on my head.
The man has reached us. I don’t dare look. I know he has stopped. No doubt to enjoy the sight of my bare rear. I only manage to humiliate myself even more–my body shifts against Carlo wantonly and makes me moan.
“Verrry nice.” I hear the man say with an English accent.
Carlo squeezes me with another kiss on the head.
“No need to wish you a good evening,” the man says with a chuckle.
Carlo chuckles with him. “No, no need at all.” He holds me tight in one arm and rubs my ass.
“Well, do enjoy.”
“See you,” Carlo answers.
At last, I hear the man begin to move on and I am shocked to feel disappointment.

“You did good, baby,” Carlo commends, rocking me lovingly. Then he lets my skirt drop and with his arm around my shoulder, we turn and head back.
I cling to him with want and a sense of security all the way to my room. He takes the key from my hand and unlocks the door. Turning me, he kisses me hard.
“I’ll see you on the beach at ten,” he says, then leaves me standing dumbfounded.
He’s not serious? O’ but he is.
I step inside, feeling both contentment and frustration. I know nothing can fulfill my desire for Carlo, but Carlo. I crawl into bed and hug the pillow.

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